


Edo Lullaby

by bloodredcherries



Category: Baby-Sitters Club & Related Fandoms, Baby-Sitters Club - All Media Types, Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin, MARTIN Ann M. - Works
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredcherries/pseuds/bloodredcherries
Summary: Mimi visits Alma during one of her hospitalizations.





	Edo Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> Edo Lullaby is a traditional Japanese lullaby, the lyrics that Mimi sings at the end can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edo_Lullaby. I hope that you like your fic, I've never written Alma and Mimi before but I hope that I have given them justice.

The machines in the room that she was in made a steady hum throughout the day, at least that was how she viewed it, having gotten used to being chained to a bed by an IV pumping various medications into her body in an increasingly futile attempt to slow the course that cancer had taken. Oftentimes, the humming and beeping of the machine was accompanied by conversations between doctors, nurses, and frequently Richard, occasionally with attempts to whisper, though normally they discussed her case at a conversational, if not loud, volume. Alma had always hated being the center of attention.

 

The topic of conversation today had been whether it was feasible for her to continue the treatment protocols that had caused her to be admitted to Stoneybrook General again in the first place. She had developed another infection since her arrival the week before, and there were concerns that the radiotherapy and chemotherapy were doing her more harm than good. 

 

But, of course, there was the child to consider. Little Mary Anne, who was only one year old. No one -- least of all Alma and Richard -- wanted her to grow up without a mother. She had been so happy when she'd fallen pregnant with Mary Anne -- she and Richard had been overjoyed. They had spoken about having a moderate sized family, perhaps with a son and a daughter, and they had welcomed their little girl the previous September with the dreams of innocence that only a newborn baby could provide. She and Richard had been so happy. 

 

Had being the operative term. Had it really only been a year ago that they hadn't had a care in the world besides Alma recovering from childbirth and her and Richard settling in to their new roles as Mom and Dad? The contrast in the 365 days would have struck her as ironic had she had the energy to even think of irony, or anything beyond living day to day. She was just...tired. Even the conversation earlier had left her utterly exhausted. Or maybe it was those stupid painkillers.

 

Alma stirred, having heard the addition of the door opening and light, almost silent, footsteps entering the room. 

 

"How are you feeling today?" The softly accented voice of Mimi, who lived across the street from Richard, Mary Anne, and herself, permeated Alma's consciousness, and she forced herself to open her eyes, no matter how heavy they felt. The harsh glare of the overhead light practically gave her a migraine these days. More things than not caused her pain, or at least discomfort, as her latest hospital visit progressed. "Janine and I picked out some flowers for your room," Mimi continued, her footsteps approaching the bed. "Tulips and daffodils," she elaborated. "I thought they might cheer you up."

 

She allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, torn between her feelings of inhospitableness and her feelings of general malaise. The television droned softy in the corner of the room, an episode of Ryan's Hope playing -- at least she thought it was. It had been a bad morning.

 

"Thanks," Alma heard herself say, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can put them..."

 

Mimi placed a comforting hand on her leg, and Alma tried not to think too much about the fact that Mimi's hand was almost large enough to circle her leg completely. Alma tried not to think about much of any of it, if she was honest with herself. She just wanted everything to go away, to go back to how things were before she had gotten sick, before all the bad test results and the chemotherapy and the traditional treatments and the nontraditional treatments, and the talks of stabilizing her enough so that she could go to Mt. Sinai and do some sort of treatment protocol. 

 

"It's alright," Mimi soothed, and Alma let her take her hand in hers. "Everything will be okay."

 

"No it won't be." Though speaking was difficult, she managed to force the words out, trying to not let the older woman hear her bitterness. "You can't honestly believe that I'm going to be alright, Mimi," she snapped. Well, as much as a person could snap in her condition. "Look at me." 

 

Alma wanted more than anything to believe anyone when they told her that everything would be okay. She wanted to believe that she would beat the cancer, that she would make it to Mt. Sinai, that she would be able to look upon her weeks of dozing off to daytime television as a fond -- or semi-fond -- memory. That it would be a story to tell Mary Anne once she was old enough to understand. But she wasn't stupid. She knew her body. 

 

"They think that I had it before I was pregnant," she whispered, shutting her eyes in the hopes that none of the tears she felt forming would escape. "That treatment protocol...even if I was well enough, it would be a last hope." 

 

"I made Richard go to work today," she admitted, drawing in a deep, shuddering, breath. "I needed to be alone."

 

Mimi let out a soothing sound, and Alma felt her run her hands over the growth of hair that had started to grow back, once she had made the decision to stop taking chemo -- a decision her body had made for her. It felt nice, she thought, rather dreamily. It almost reminded her of when she was a little girl back in Iowa, and her mother would sit by her bedside every night until she fell asleep. Alma missed Iowa. She missed the country, being able to be on the farm. She would have given anything to be that girl in Maynard again. That healthy, happy, little farm girl.

 

"Perhaps it's not the okay that we want," Mimi allowed. "But a different okay." The air filled with silence, as neither woman found themselves keen to admit that the different okay was an okay without Alma. 

 

"You don't think it's selfish?" She asked. "Not wanting to push to be let into that trial? Stopping the chemotherapy?"

 

"Selfish?" She echoed. "It's not selfish. Some body wear out sooner than others." She sighed. Alma sighed as well. "Richard and Mary Anne, they'll be okay. Maybe it take awhile, but it will happen. But you are not selfish, my Alma. Don't think that."

 

"I hope you're right," she murmured. "How is she?"

 

Mary Anne wasn't allowed to visit Alma in the hospital -- she was too young, and though they could have possibly gotten an exception made due to the circumstances, neither Alma nor Richard had wanted to needlessly expose their one year old to the germs and infections that were found on the cancer ward at Stoneybrook General -- so she hadn't seen her daughter since she had been admitted. The barely one year old had been staying home with a series of neighborhood babysitters, on a rotational basis. Alma didn't know who had set it up. Each day, Mary Anne went to one of three homes: Maxine Jones', Rioko Kishi's, or Elizabeth Thomas'. This enabled Richard to -- theoretically -- work; while she -- equally theoretically -- recovered. Not that there had been much of a change in her status. Every day it seemed that she felt worse.

 

She felt Mimi squeeze her hand. 

 

"Our Mary Anne..." Mimi's voice trailed off, before she cleared her throat. "She will be alright. She will adapt. She enjoys her time with Claudia and Kristy."

 

Adapt. Alma wanted to shudder at Mimi's frankness, about the fact that Mary Anne would have to just adapt to her being gone. 

 

"She probably won't even remember me," she mumbled. No one had mentioned the possibility -- no, the reality -- that Mary Anne was going to forget about Alma in the future, most likely the near future, but she knew that it was true. "She's so young..." 

 

She sighed. 

 

"She will know you," Mimi insisted. "Richard, Edie, I...she'll know." Mimi sounded so certain with herself. 

 

Alma didn't dare force her eyes open in case Mimi's expression betrayed her.

 

"Will you stay until I fall asleep again?" She asked, her tone almost pleading. "I really...I don't want to be alone."

 

"Yes, until you sleep," she agreed. "Always, my Alma." 

 

She was tired. She was always tired. She still felt rude falling asleep after Mimi had come to visit.  

 

" _Nennen korori yo, Okorori yo. Bōya wa yoi ko da, Nenne shina..._ "


End file.
